The room was finally empty. Desolate. His teammates cleared out, coaches cleared out, media members cleared out.

Inside the visitors' locker room at Ford Field, T.J. Lang was finally alone with his thoughts.

Clutching his bag, the Green Bay Packers left guard took a deep breath.

Lang would've handled this differently three years ago. But not now. Not after his transformation, not with everything he's going through.

"I could easily take this situation, go out and do dumb (expletive) to try to forget about it," Lang said. "I've learned that's not the way to take care of things."

The "situation" is every son's nightmare. Lang's father - some 20 minutes from Ford Field - is battling a life-threatening illness. Without specifying, Lang said his dad, Tom Lang, would begin treatment this week. Perspective hit like a head-on collision. The news rocked him.

Dad never missed a game at Lambeau Field. Ever. And seven hours before Lang's game against Minnesota Vikings on Nov. 14, he discovered his dad's health had turned south. Someone would be missing.

But here's the thing. Lang was ready. He can handle this. The last three years, the personable, ultra-honest guard has matured from out-all-night 21-year-old to lights-out-by-10 father. Lang is the first to admit it. He didn't take this job seriously enough and nearly paid the price. This past summer, his career was pushed to a make-or-break training camp.

He needed to quit treating morning meetings as college lectures. He couldn't show up to work on two hours of sleep. Lang changed his ways. And now, it's paying off.

"I'm living a lot different these days," Lang said after the Packers' 27-15 win at Detroit, "just from having more responsibilities and taking things more serious."

Know this: T.J. Lang isn't a cookie-cutter offensive lineman. His technique isn't sculpted, his footwork isn't elegant. Lang is not necessarily a guard or a tackle. After converting from defense to offense at Eastern Michigan, his coach encouraged prison-rules abandon.

Chris Symington told Lang he needed to be different. He needed to "hate" opponents.

"He really took that on," said Symington, who now coaches at Colorado State-Pueblo. "He just didn't like people very much. . . . Once you walked on that field, he was trying to hurt you. He's too+ mean. He doesn't take (expletive) from anybody."

After three years of this in the Mid-American Conference from 2005-'07, Lang became bored. Complacent. It drove Symington mad. Berating Lang wouldn't work. The two were beyond that. And it's not like Symington could bench his best player.

So three games into Lang's final year in 2008 Symington tried to "stir his soul."

In the dark, dreary, dusty basement of Eastern Michigan's basketball arena, the coach brought Lang into a classroom at 7:30 p.m. Symington put game film on, set down the remote and told Lang to pretend he's a scout.

"Evaluate yourself and you let me know if you would draft you," Symington remembers telling Lang. "I'm going to leave and take however long it takes. You want to look at it for 5 minutes, you don't want to listen to me, you don't want to do (expletive), you want to walk out of here, that's fine.

"However long it takes, you look at yourself and you ask yourself if you would draft you.'"

Symington went home. Hours passed. The coach forgot Lang was still there when his cell phone lit up at 11 p.m. and Symington's wife wondered who on earth was texting her husband this late.

No need to panic. It was his left tackle.

Lang thanked his coach and said, "No," he would not draft himself. From that point on, something clicked. In the meeting room, Lang started diagramming blocking assignments. And on the field, he continued to play with a snarl, a swagger that'd compensate for any lack of grace.

"When he's riding that fine line you better watch the (expletive) out," Symington said. "He doesn't care who you are. He's going to try to hurt you. That's what I wanted him to do. I preached that daily. Is it right or wrong? I don't know. He's going to make a lot of (expletive) money."

The Packers drafted Lang in the fourth round the following spring. Symington's ploy worked. His pupil had arrived.

But soon, Lang would need another wake-up call. Somebody else would need to snap him out of a trance.

The good life

Yeah, yeah, it's not New York City. Heck, it's not even Appleton. But - you kidding? - of course you can have a great time in Green Bay. Where there's money, there's an open bar tab. Keep 'em coming. This was one of many unforgettable nights on Washington St.

Tyler Saxton, now a bartender at Kittner's Pub, remembers the night well. Two years ago, Lang closed Skyy Club down. Patrons left. Lang and friends stayed.

"At the end of the night, all the bartenders kind of throw things in pitchers and clean up," Saxton said. "T.J. wasn't ready to go so he asked one of the bartenders if he could have the pitcher and started pouring bombs of whatever was mixed up that we found.

"We were just finishing everything they had."

Lang's the first to admit it. He drank too much. He "ate like (expletive)." He stayed up too late. All in all, he did not take his job - a job thousands of prospects hope for - seriously. His career was spiraling into quicksand. Even worse, Lang didn't think anything of it. He said offensive line coach James Campen often had sit-down talks with him about this. But he ignored him.

Lang didn't need a babysitter. He was fine.

For two years, he went out Friday nights, Monday nights, sometimes Thursday nights. Living at a downtown apartment, Lang said "there was really no limit."

"I didn't really see a problem with it," he said. "Looking back at it now, I'm embarrassed that I was that blind to not thinking it was a problem. I was living the single, 21-year-old, a lot of money type of lifestyle."

He never went out late before games but those early practices could be brutal. Each morning at the team facilities, Lang tried to play it off. Groggy is an understatement.

Fueled by two (maybe three) hours of sleep, Lang rubbed his eyes and showed up for work.

"I'd be out until 4 in the morning and we'd practice at 7," Lang said. "Looking back at it, what the hell was I doing? I was always tired. I was almost living a secret lifestyle. I would come in here and tell everybody I went to bed at 10 just because I didn't want to set up a bad reputation for myself."

Some teammates - "partners in crime," Lang calls them - knew. But other than Campen, coaches didn't.

"No," offensive coordinator Joe Philbin said. "Sure didn't."

The wrist injury didn't help. It robbed Lang's 2010 off-season. Unable to lift weights, Lang's bad habits affected his play. By the time he returned, Lang never competed for a starting spot. Through the first four games, he was a healthy scratch. The Packers rampaged to a Super Bowl win mostly without him.

Thus, the thrill was fleeting. Lang slid that paper weight-sized ring onto his finger and felt undeserving, empty.

He only wore the ring for three days tops. By now, it's probably collecting dust somewhere. After two years of the frat life, it was time to change.

"I'm not saying last year that I didn't do anything," Lang said. "I played a handful of snaps. But it was hard to convince myself that I was a piece of the puzzle on that team."

The wakeup call

They spent plenty of nights together, sure. But Josh Sitton got it. He understood what it took to be a pro. At right guard, he was in line for an eventual payday. At left guard, Lang faced a do-or-die training camp.

So Sitton, one of Lang's closest friends, played the role of Tony Robbins last summer.

"I just told him that we needed him this year," Sitton said. "We needed him to put all of his efforts and thoughts this year into winning that left guard job and becoming the player that he has been."

"He kind of knew what my habits were the first two years," Lang added. "He told me to grow up and mature a little bit. I really took that to heart."

Motivation bled from the depth chart. Rookie Derek Sherrod, a tackle his entire life, was penciled in as the starting left guard the first day of camp. This was a sign. Campen had the talks with Lang. He told him to grow up.

Now this was Year Three. Daryn Colledge was off to the Arizona Cardinals. Campen needed to see how badly Lang wanted this.

"He came in and he fought like hell," Campen said. "I'm sure someone going in ahead of him after Daryn had left brought in his competitiveness. He said, 'No, I want to play.' "

By simply cutting out the junk food, Lang lost 10 pounds. He didn't sulk. And midway through camp, he lapped Sherrod. His hunger and focus were obvious. Another driving force? In August, Lang and his girlfriend welcomed a son, John, into the world. He's a family man now.

"That may change you more than anything else," said Philbin, who has six kids. "You realize that sometimes you live selfishly. You're on your own and it's all about you. Then all of a sudden you realize, 'There's more to it in this picture than just me.' Some guys never learn that lesson."

Lang is relieved he did. This season, he's been one of the team's most consistent linemen. The beast inside him - the one Symington fed - finally has a platform. No longer the resident utility man, Lang is settled in at one spot. He gives the group an edge, a nastiness. On this record-setting offense, Lang fills a specific need. Every line needs a play-to-the-whistle parasite.

From his living room, Symington knew Lang was not completely innocent when Minnesota Vikings defensive end Brian Robison kicked him in the groin at the Metrodome. That's Lang doing what he does best - antagonizing.

"I guarantee you that there was something done before that, something that nobody ever saw that instigated that," Symington said. "A guy doesn't just kick you for nothing. My 12-year-old son saw that and said, 'T.J. had to have done something.' I said, 'Of course he did!' "

A new life

These days, Saxton doesn't see Lang. He's too busy with his girlfriend, too busy with his son and too busy tracking Dexter Morgan's pursuit of the "Doomsday Killer."

Lang gets home around 4 or 4:30 p.m., plays with John, enjoys a home-cooked meal from his girlfriend and relaxes. It's a new, tranquil lifestyle he embraced immediately. Sunday nights are the best. Back-to-back, Lang and his girlfriend watch Dexter and "Homeland" on Showtime.

As Lang laughs, they are also into "old people" shows. They're more apt to spend a Friday night with Alex Trebek than Washington St.'s finest.

"It's relaxing to go home, get some sleep and come to practice every day fresh and rejuvenated," Lang said. "I'm not coming in on two hours of sleep and being tired all the time. It's been a huge difference. If you asked me a year ago what I'd be doing this time next year, there's no way I would've told you I would have a kid and family."

Campen sees the transformation. Those talks aren't needed anymore. Having a son will do that.

"Your perspective changes," Campen said. "Sometimes it takes something like that."

Now, Lang copes with something bigger than all of this. Dad is always on his mind. That first game wasn't easy. By the fourth quarter on "Monday Night Football" - with the game out of reach - Lang couldn't stop thinking about his dad. His concentration faded. The next day, he went home to check in.

So the Thanksgiving timing was perfect. This time, Lang spent an extra four days with his family. He attended his little brother's state championship game and tweeted a heartfelt "Thank You" to fans for the prayers.

His dad's message hasn't changed.

"Don't let this affect you," he told Lang. "Go out there and play the game you love. I'll be there watching you. I'm with you."

Those words gave T.J. peace, comfort, calm. Exactly what he needs to forge ahead.

But the truth is, Lang has never been this focused in his life.

Tyler Dunne  wrote: